


Is this what you wanted

by Neurocrat



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Caretaking, Crying, Domestic Fluff, Emotions, Fake Marriage, Feelings, Fix-It, Foggy letting Matt believe they’re married, Foggy taking care of Matt, M/M, Matt is back, Memory Loss, Mutual Masturbation, Post-Defenders, Serious Injuries, Sort Of, guilt about misleading him, showering together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-08 20:47:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14701977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neurocrat/pseuds/Neurocrat
Summary: “We just need a family member to sign off on his treatment plan,” said the nurse, almost pleading with him. “Your relationship?” When Foggy hesitated, mouth open, the nurse pushed, in a quieter voice: “I just need to put something in the form.”“Husband,” Foggy said.





	Is this what you wanted

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not expect any sort of medical accuracy regarding: amnesia; the kind of injuries that having a building fall on you (and possibly being healed by dragon bones or Black Sky magic or something) would cause; what those injuries would limit you in doing in terms of walking or taking a shower; etc. But hey it’s a comic book, right?

When he came to, there was confusion. Pain. Pain in several places. Smells and sounds of women around him, women of various ages, the crinkle of layers of stiff fabric on their bodies, on their heads and necks. Calling him by a name his brain couldn’t process.

There was a tightness and pain around his chest. He moved an arm experimentally, ran his hand over the bandages around his body. Each breath in hurt, each breath out hurt in a different way.

A new woman came into the room, fabric swishing. Her smell, her voice, something about her made him need to get away. His painful breathing sped up abruptly. He didn’t know who she was. He didn’t know who _he_ was. But he couldn’t be in the same room as this woman. Something was terribly wrong.

“No,” he said, involuntarily. His unused voice came out as a croak. The woman reached toward him, saying that name he wasn’t sure was his. Her hand smoothed the hair on his forehead and he recoiled. “No!” This time it came out more forcefully. The hand drew back.

He flailed under the sheet, threw it off himself, and rolled out of the bed. He half fell on the floor, but caught himself on one arm, an arm which sent him bright, insistent pain as a reward. He ignored it – he was good at setting aside pain, he remembered that much about himself – and staggered to his feet. The women were full of consternation, gathering around him, trying to guide him back down into the bed. He brushed them away, then pushed harder when they wouldn’t let up. He found some clever, graceful moves within himself to evade them. Then he was out the door.

He followed sounds and smells to exit the building. The women were moving after him. There were shouts, phone calls. The air outside was full of exhaust and pigeon shit and garbage and everything else of the city, but it was still better than inside that stale, musty place.

He stumbled, found a sidewalk by its feel under his feet, and turned in a direction, headed down it. Anywhere, away from there. The pains - in his side, his arm, somewhere in his hip – they all yelled at him. He set them aside.

He got about ten steps before the edges of his consciousness muted. He didn’t remember falling, but suddenly was dimly aware of the gritty concrete under his face, and the sound of sirens.

\----

Foggy stood at the Emergency Room intake counter and wondered if he needed to admit himself, too. He was covered in sweat; he could feel the blood rushing in his ears and thought he might throw up.

His memory of how he’d even gotten here from the office was fuzzy. There’d been a call from Brett. He’d argued with Brett, yelled at Brett for what he’d assumed was the cruelest of jokes, a joke Brett would never make. A man, spitting image of Matt, hurt, in the ER, no memories. It couldn’t be Matt – Matt had died, six weeks ago. A fucking _building_ fell on him. Nothing made sense.

“Can you spell that for me, sir?” The nurse asked him, typing at a computer.

“M-U-R-D-O-C-K”, Foggy managed. “But, listen to me, like I said, I don’t know if it’s him. I have to see him first, I—”

“We just need a family member to sign off on his treatment plan,” said the nurse, almost pleading with him. “Your relationship?” When Foggy hesitated, mouth open, the nurse pushed, in a quieter voice: “I just need to put something in the form.”

“Husband,” Foggy said. A small, crazed voice in his head laughed at him, but he couldn’t appreciate the irony right now. It was an emergency. Matt had no family but him. He signed the paperwork with a shaky hand, and they led him back to the room.

He stopped dead in the doorway, looking at a doctor with long brown hair talking to a man in a hospital gown in the bed. He was pale, thinner and even more beat up than usual, but it was him. It was either him, or he had a long-lost twin, and that seemed equally unlikely.

The man turned his head toward Foggy, and his face slowly broke into a smile. “…Foggy?” He said hesitantly. Foggy was still staring at him. He reached up to rub his eyes with his fists and found them wet.

Unfreezing his legs, he went to Matt and embraced him. Tentatively, at first – there was an IV line in his arm, and Foggy could feel bandages under the thin gown – but Foggy couldn’t help it, in a moment he was squeezing Matt with all his might, sobbing into Matt’s shoulder. Matt was laughing, sounding a little confused. “It’s alright, Foggy,” he murmured into Foggy’s ear. “It’s alright! Come on.”

“It’s a very positive sign,” the doctor was saying. “He recognizes you. This is the first connection to his past we’ve seen. Since he has somewhere to go, now, we’ll be discharging him later today.”

“Somewhere to go,” Foggy repeated, mind frayed, trying to understand. “Yes, yeah, of course. Thank you.” Matt’s apartment was no doubt rented out by now, and it was unclear how capable Matt was of living on his own at the moment. Foggy would have to take him in. It didn’t matter. Matt was alive.

The doctor had left the room. Matt finally eased free from Foggy’s tight hug, but Foggy still held on to Matt’s shoulders. “You’re my husband,” Matt said tentatively. “We’re married?”

Foggy opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, sniffling. “Oh… Matt-” he began.

“I heard you say it,” Matt went on, “at the desk. It’s helping me to remember. Who I was – I mean, who I am. I do remember you, and more and more is coming back to me. I’ve known you a long, long time, right?”

Foggy nodded. “That’s right.”

“And we’re best friends, and I love you.” Matt was grinning. When was the last time Foggy had seen him look this happy? Years?

“I love you too,” Foggy choked. It wasn’t a lie.

Matt kissed him on the lips, softly but without any hesitation. The way you would kiss someone you’d already been with for years. Your partner – your husband.

\----

Hours passed, though Foggy did not know how. The doctor came back with a nurse, recited for Foggy a litany of instructions for how to tend Matt’s wounds, and what kind of red flags to look for, and when he should bring Matt back to the ER if necessary. Foggy had trouble paying attention. He was sitting as close to the bed as he could pull the chair, holding Matt’s hand and staring at his face. He was trying, over and over again, to understand how he was looking at a living, breathing Matt. He had trouble looking at the doctor’s face, at her mouth moving, though he needed to in order to understand her words better. He had trouble detaching his eyes from Matt’s face, from his chest, covered in bandages and hospital gown, rising and falling with each breath. Matt, alive, breathing.

They took a cab back to Foggy’s place, Matt in a t-shirt and sweatpants the hospital had given him. Matt was kind of out of it, falling asleep in the cab. Foggy fretted over him, kept waking him up, worried if he dropped off he wouldn’t come back. Foggy could not let go of Matt’s hand, even though his palm got uncomfortably sweaty and his fingers got stiff.

It was nighttime by the time they got in. Foggy heated up canned soup in the microwave. He put some saltines on the plate next to the bowl and brought it to Matt, who was sprawled on the couch. Matt said he wasn’t hungry.

“Just a little… C’mon, Matt,” Foggy said. “Who knows when you ate last. You need your strength.”

Matt just sighed. But when Foggy sat on the coffee table with the plate next to him, and brought the spoon to Matt’s lips, Matt took it and swallowed. He took the next two spoonfuls Foggy fed him, then reached out, feeling for the bowl. “Alright… I guess I am hungry.”

Foggy helped him sit up and guided him to the bowl. Matt took the spoon and got most of the soup down him. Afterward, he seemed drained from the effort of eating. His eyes were drifting closed. Foggy forcefully calmed his own panic - he reminded himself the doctor had said nothing about any head injuries; Matt was cleared to sleep normally.

“Hold on, Matty, I’ll get you a pillow and blanket,” Foggy said. He turned away to do so, but to his dismay, Matt was struggling to his feet.

Foggy took Matt gently by the shoulders. “No, Matt,” he said, “you need to lie back down.”

Matt shook his head. “Not on the couch… Let me be in the bed with you.”

Foggy bit his lip. He had not yet explained to Matt that they weren’t actually married.

“Please, Foggy,” Matt said, his voice hoarse. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Okay,” Foggy ceded. “Of course. Yeah, of course. C’mon.”

An arm around Matt’s waist, Foggy led Matt to the bedroom and to the bed. Matt sat on the edge and stripped off his t-shirt. Foggy looked away from his bandaged, bruised chest and stomach, and got his own pajamas out of his dresser drawer. He changed quickly, his face and neck getting hot even though he knew Matt couldn’t see him. When he turned back, Matt was under the covers already. His sweatpants were on the floor along with his shirt.

Foggy swallowed.

 _Okay, Nelson,_ said his brain. _This would be a pretty good time to tell him the two of you are not married to each other. And maybe also that naked co-sleeping is a little weird between best buds._

Foggy opened his mouth. He took a breath and let it out.

Matt spoke before he did. “Who am I, Foggy?” he asked, voice small. “I have so many gaps… Can you help remind me who I am?”

Foggy closed his mouth. He peeled back the covers gingerly, trying to not lift them enough to expose naked Matt – naked Matt in his bed next to him – and got into bed. He stuck close to the edge.

“You’re Matt Murdock,” Foggy began. “You’re… You’re really smart, and devoted to justice. Your hero is Thurgood Marshall.” Matt took this in, keeping still. “You’re a lawyer,” Foggy said. “We used to be law partners. We had our own firm. We went to law school together.” He grinned, remembering. “We had a lot of fun times.”

“Yeah?” Matt said, smiling a little.

“Yeah. We studied hard, and partied a lot… We used to go all the time to this just _beautiful_ bar, called Josie’s--”

“’Used to be’ partners?” Matt interrupted. “Why, what happened?”

“Uh, uhm,” Foggy struggled. “Well, it didn’t work out, it—”

“Mixing personal and professional?” Matt asked.

Foggy paused. “Yeah… Yeah, pretty much, I guess.”

Matt nodded, brow furrowed. He didn’t look satisfied, but he didn’t push it. “What else?”

Foggy took a breath. _You’re a vigilante. You go out at night in crazy red body armor and beat the shit out of people._ “Uhm, you’re, … You’re Catholic,” Foggy said, weakly. How long would it take Matt to remember? Would he ever remember? “You go to this huge Gothic church a few blocks from here, and you’ve got a good relationship with the priest there.”

Matt nodded. He didn’t seem surprised by this information. “When I first came to, I think I was surrounded by nuns,” he said, almost to himself.

Foggy frowned. “Nuns? When they called me, you were in the ER…”

“Foggy,” Matt said, abruptly, “will you hold me?”

Foggy held his breath, his chest hot. He wanted to hold Matt, more than anything. Living Matt, breathing Matt. His best friend, his love.

He just needed to tell Matt to put those sweatpants back on first.

But that was weird. That would sound weird, coming from his ‘husband’. There was no way to explain it to Matt. Well, there was a way, but Matt was vulnerable right now, with his injuries and memory loss. Foggy didn’t want to push him. Or, more to the point, Foggy was tired. Foggy didn’t have it in him. Foggy … Didn’t want to tell Matt they weren’t married. He just didn’t want to right now, was all. He’d tell Matt tomorrow. First thing.

“Yeah, Matty, of course,” Foggy said, trying to sound normal. He scooched forward tentatively, put his arms around Matt. He kept his lower body just slightly separated from Matt’s. _Space for Jesus,_ his mind said to him, hysterically.

His troubles were for naught. Matt immediately closed the distance, backed himself up against Foggy, wrapping Foggy’s arms with his own. His hands were warm on Foggy’s arms. His back was firm against Foggy’s chest, and his butt was a goddamn revelation. Foggy’s junk slotted neatly between his cheeks. Foggy willed himself not to twitch, and worked on the dilemma of whether to breathe.

“Thank you,” Matt said, “Foggy. Love you…” his voice drifted into a slur, and he was quietly snoring in seconds.

Foggy was wide awake, fighting with and then simply accepting his erection, for twenty slow minutes.

\----

At an early hour, Foggy’s eyes snapped open. Matt was still asleep, moaning and shifting restlessly next to him. He was probably in pain from his injuries. Foggy mentally reconstructed the instructions the hospital staff had given him. He thought about the pain pills he’d left on the kitchen counter and wondered if he’d be successful in getting Matt to take one. Would Matt be amnesiac about his own stubbornness?

Foggy left the room to let Matt rest. He called the office and took an day off for a “family emergency”, and set to work making breakfast. He knew Matt liked his eggs over easy, and his toast not too dark. By the time Foggy was getting everything onto two plates, Matt was limping into the bedroom doorway, holding himself up against the walls. He’d pulled his sweatpants back on, thank Christ. “Smells good,” he said, voice thick and scratchy.

Foggy put the plate down quickly and went to him. “Hey, hey, hey, you don’t need to get up or walk anywhere,” he said, getting one arm around Matt’s waist for support. “I was going to bring you breakfast in bed.”

Matt smiled through his wince of pain. “Aw, thanks, sweetheart,” he said. _Sweetheart._ Foggy felt the skin on his neck and chest heat up. Matt took another step forward. “But, I want to come to the table. I can make it.”

“I’ll help you,” Foggy said. “Lean on me.” Matt put his arm around Foggy, gripping his shoulder tight – damn, his hands were strong – and let Foggy take a little of his weight. They clumsily made it to the table, and Foggy struggled to get him into a chair without dropping him. Matt half fell onto the chair and grunted, grabbing the back of the chair for balance. “Shit - sorry,” Foggy said, stabilizing Matt’s thigh with both hands without thinking.

Situated finally, Matt tilted his head toward Foggy. “…’Sweetheart’ is okay, right? I don’t remember what we… Call each other.” His hand went straight to the fork, and fork straight into the eggs, no pretense of feeling around.

“Sure, all the pet names,” Foggy found himself answering. “Sweetheart. Honey. Cutie-pie.” _Idiot,_ thought Foggy at himself. _Asshole._

Matt smiled, keeping an ear pointed toward Foggy as Foggy moved around the table and sat down. “Love muffin?” he offered. “Sugar-cakes?”

Foggy shook his head, groaning. “Great, your terrible sense of humor seems unchanged. I’d hoped you’d lost that with all your memories.”

Matt laughed, and immediately cringed and held a hand to his ribs. “Shit.”

“Sorry,” Foggy said, “Sorry, buddy, I should try not to make you laugh.”

“’Buddy’? Matt inquired, eyebrows up, straightening up again and taking another bite of eggs. “I thought I was your sugar pie.”

“Eat your damn eggs, Casanova,” Foggy growled at him, putting one of his fried eggs on a piece of toast.

It was almost normal, almost like old times. Foggy knew he was taking a gift not meant for him, a gift of erasure of the past. Their split, all those harsh words said – it was washed away from Matt’s mind. For now. The doctor had said that memories would begin to come back to Matt, in time. Slowly, over weeks, months. Was there any point in explaining to Matt, in detail, their fights and their split? He’d remember, soon enough. What if they could build back their friendship for a few weeks first, unhindered?

 _Not right. You’re lying to him. Sin of omission,_ Foggy chided himself.

_Oh yeah? Like he told me everything, all those years?_

He sighed.

Matt noticed, of course. “What’s wrong, Fog? I thought I was the one with mortal wounds.”

“Nothing. Just thinking about how we have to change your bandages. Eat up.”

\----

Matt was sitting on Foggy’s toilet wearing nothing but bandages, and Foggy figured he had to get used to this. After Foggy had helped him to the bathroom, Matt had shucked off his clothes in front of Foggy like it was no big deal. And it wouldn’t be, for two people married to each other, so Foggy mentally slapped himself a couple of times and dealt with it.

“You want to take a bath?” Foggy asked him. “In the tub? It might be easier.”

“I can stand,” Matt said, “so I can shower. That way, you can join me.”

Foggy cleared his throat. “I don’t think I need to shower right now,” he said, weakly.

Matt crinkled his nose, smiling. “Your stink says otherwise.”

A riot of conflicting thoughts rose up in Foggy’s head _(you’re taking advantage of him – it’s fine, it’s normal – we’re married – we’re just friends  - it’s normal – you have to tell him)_ and he threw a heavy blanket over all of them. He lifted an arm and turned his head to sniff. “You’re right,” he said, making Matt laugh and wince again. He turned on the water and stuck his hand in to feel the temperature.

Foggy’s impulse was to wait for Matt to get in the water before undressing, as if the shower curtain between them would lend some semblance of privacy or distance, but Matt stood placidly, waiting for Foggy. So Foggy took his pajamas off and hung them on one of the towel hooks.

“Your heart is hammering,” Matt murmured. “And you’re hot all over. Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine,” Foggy said, too fast, and Matt’s brow creased.

Abruptly, Matt’s face softened in understanding. “Has – has it been a long time since you saw me?”

“It has,” Foggy agreed. “Yeah, it has … You ready to get in the shower?”

“I – I might need help,” Matt said.

Foggy stood side-by-side with Matt, an arm firm around his waist while Matt leaned on his shoulder. Foggy could feel Matt’s muscles rippling in his side as they walked forward, as Matt stepped into the tub. Foggy followed.

Foggy guided Matt into the stream of water. Matt was a little out of breath; these simple movements were taxing for him and his injured ribs. Nonetheless, Matt smiled in Foggy’s direction. “So, you’re just… excited to see me,” he said, and he winked.

Foggy was mortified. Matt wasn’t wrong: he _was_ a little excited, his treacherous dick half-swollen. He could feel the hammering heart now that Matt had mentioned it. But he let himself laugh, because he didn’t want to make this any more awkward than it already was. Because he didn’t want Matt to catch on that this was the first time they’d ever showered together.

“Well, and, Matt… I thought you were dead,” Foggy said. He realized Matt had had no way of knowing that. He handed Matt a washcloth and picked up the body wash, but stood there holding it, at a loss. He laughed again, a little hysterical. “I thought you were fucking dead, Matt. Jesus. I thought you were gone…”

“Don’t cry,” Matt said, stepping closer and touching Foggy’s cheek. “I’m here.” Water ran over both of them.

Foggy nodded, putting his hand over Matt’s hand. “I know. I know. I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me, too,” Matt said, and kissed Foggy again.

“Matt,” Foggy choked. “Oh, god.” He leaned forward to kiss Matt more. _Screw it. Let me have this. Just a kiss._

Matt made a satisfied noise and kissed back, hard, opening his mouth. His hand on Foggy’s face slid around to grip the back of Foggy’s neck, which made Foggy’s skin feel goosebumpy all over despite the shower steam. Foggy settled his free hand awkwardly above Matt’s hip and kissed Matt for all he was worth, accepting Matt’s tongue with a gasp. Matt dropped the washcloth and started moving his other hand down Foggy’s chest, traveling down, and Foggy came back to himself and broke away from Matt.

“Uh, um, you shouldn’t, you’re still weak, Matty,” he murmured, soft, panting.

“I’m okay. My hands work fine.” His crooked smile. He reached out for Foggy’s waist again and smoothed his palm over Foggy’s abdomen, towards his dick.

Foggy grabbed his wrist. “Hold on-“

Matt waited.

“—let me just help you wash first,” Foggy finished. Just buying himself some time before he broke the illusion.

Matt shook his head, still smiling. With a grunt of effort, he tried to bend down to pick up the washcloth from the floor of the tub. “No, no, let me do that,” Foggy said, getting it instead, trying not to brush his hard-on against Matt’s rear end and failing. Matt stood with his back to Foggy as Foggy squirted body wash onto the washcloth, hands shaking. Matt sighed as Foggy scrubbed his back. “If you insist, Sugar-cakes. Clean me first, I’ll get you off after that, and then you can clean me again.”

Foggy dropped the body wash on his foot.

Matt cringed as Foggy yelped. “Sweetheart – shit. You alright? We’ve only got room for one injured person here – be careful.”

“Matt,” Foggy said, rubbing his foot, “I need to tell you something.”

“Yeah?”

Foggy took a deep breath. “We’re not actually married.”

Matt blinked. Foggy waited for the fallout. He’d weather it, though. He’d done the right thing.

A hint of Matt’s crooked smile returned. “So we’re just living in sin?”

Foggy shook his head frantically. “No, Matt, you don’t understand, I—”

“I get it,” Matt interrupted. “A fib for the nurse at the hospital desk, so they could put you down as family. It’s fine, Foggy. Domestic partners is close enough.”

Foggy was still shaking his head, about to speak, but Matt put his arms around him and pulled him close. “Let me guess. We were putting off a wedding,” Matt said in his ear, “too busy with the firm, and everything, and then… And then you thought I died. I’m guessing it was a sore spot with us, and now… Oh, Foggy. I don’t care if we’re married or not. As long as I’m with you.” He kissed Foggy’s forehead.

“You really love me?” Foggy whispered.

“Of course I do, Fog, sweetheart.”

It had to be some bizarre side effect of amnesia. But Foggy wanted to believe in it. He leaned back in Matt’s arms to look at him. “And you… You want me?”

Matt snorted. “What do you think? I always have. I…” His face got thoughtful. “I think I have a memory… You and me in college together. Before we started… Before we dated? I… I’m pretty sure I wanted you even back then.”

Foggy stared at him. None of this could be real. The shower water was heading rapidly towards lukewarm. He detached himself gently from Matt’s arms and patted Matt on both shoulders, all friendly-like.

“Matt, listen. I need to do some thinking, and then we need to have a talk. But first, let’s just finish cleaning you up, and then I’ll go out and get us some lunch. Okay?”

Matt was frowning a little, confused, but he nodded. “Okay,” he said, quietly.

Foggy picked the body wash bottle up again. He looked down at Matt’s body, wet, naked, and glorious, and sighed. He pressed the washcloth and body wash into Matt’s hands. “…You can do your own crotch, though, right?”

\----

Foggy somehow made it through helping Matt dry off, getting him in boxers and a t-shirt, and getting him situated on the couch with a cup of coffee and a podcast playing on Foggy’s laptop. Then he got the hell out of his apartment. He took a deep breath as soon as he was outside, looking up at the sky.

It had been one hell of a 24 hours. His head was swimming. He really wanted a drink. But it was barely noon, and Matt was waiting on him for lunch, so he resisted the urge to walk straight to Josie’s, and instead called in an order to the Thai place that he and Matt used to frequent back in their Nelson and Murdock days. He headed to the café around the corner from the Thai restaurant to get something sugary in lieu of booze while he waited for his order to be ready.

“Large caramel latte, whip cream,” he said to the barista, who threw a concerned look his way as she punched it into the register. He realized there were tears on his face. He smiled an apology at her, wiping them away, and paid for his coffee.

Foggy sat at one of the stools looking out at the street to drink his coffee. It was time to face some emotions he was having, stare them down like an adult. One that he couldn’t quite justify but had to acknowledge was a surprisingly strong surge of anger. Anger at Matt for loving him, wanting him all this time and never saying so, except in so many words, so much hinting and flirtation. _Man without fear, my ass._

Anger at the universe for keeping them apart until Matt almost died. For all the extra layers, all the unsaid complexity in their brutal fights that split up their firm, split up their friendship. Anger that Foggy was not able to console himself as he would have after a break-up, since it wasn’t a break-up, or they couldn’t admit it was. Okay, anger at himself. _I’m such an idiot. I’ve been such an idiot all this time._

No, no, none of that. He rubbed his forehead and took another sip of latte and tried to be kinder to himself. Maybe this was all going to be okay. Maybe Matt’s brush with death was what it took to shake them both out of their shitty pattern, the dance they’d done around each other for a decade. Matt’s injuries had hit the Reset button in his brain, and they could start over.

Foggy had a lot of things to do. Call Karen, that was a big one. Get back to work, but also, do some thinking about whether he wanted to stay at the firm. Get Matt back on his feet, back in shape to practice law again. And, yes, back in shape to be a vigilante again. Foggy knew there wasn’t any way to keep that away from Matt forever.

But for now, he just had to bring Matt Thai food, and tell him the truth.

\----

“I’m having some memories come back,” Matt said, slurping pad Thai noodles at the table. “We had a big falling out. I remember us yelling at each other… Possibly in a public restroom?”

“That’s right,” Foggy said, solemn. “It was in the courthouse.”

Matt put down his chopsticks. “I think I get it now. We broke up- maybe it was a long time ago. Maybe we weren’t even on speaking terms. And then I went and… What happened to me, that I got hurt like this…” He shook his head. “I’m not totally clear on how that happened yet, but. You were still my next-of-kin, you had to come get me. No wonder you were acting so uncomfortable.”

Foggy put down his chopsticks, too, and rubbed his forehead. “That’s, that’s mostly right, Matty,” he said. “Except one little thing. We actually never dated.”

Matt frowned. “We never…? But, but we were so close, and I know I’ve loved you. For years.”

“We _were_ really close, and – to be honest? Our falling out was essentially a break-up. We just… I think we’ve just been in some really deep denial for a really long time, Matt.”

“Deep denial,” Matt repeated, thoughtfully. “That brings up a lot of stuff, out of my memories. Is deep denial… possibly a big theme in my life?”

Foggy laughed. “I’m nodding,” Foggy told him. “I’m just gonna laugh and nod. Buddy, you have no idea.”

“Well, I don’t want to be in denial about us anymore, at least,” Matt said softly. He reached across the table and took Foggy’s hand. “You… You did _want_ to date me, right?” He smiled tentatively. “I mean, you loved me… Love me… More than platonically?”

Foggy opened his mouth to launch into a convoluted answer, and remembered: Denial. What they said they weren’t going to do anymore. This was their chance to start over.

“Yes,” Foggy said. “Yes, Matty, so much yes.”

Matt smiled harder, looking relieved. He stroked his thumb over Foggy’s hand. “Come over here and kiss me, then.”

Foggy rolled his eyes, but he was grinning, he couldn’t help it. “Matt. We’re in the middle of eating; we’ve both got pad Thai breath-“

“Come here. Please? I’d go over to you, but I’m the injured one.”

Foggy couldn’t resist him. He never could. He had to watch out for that.

He came around the table to Matt, who reached out and pulled Foggy onto his lap, caressing his waist and kissing his mouth softly.

“Whoa, whoa, are you sure I should sit on you? I don’t want to hurt you,” Foggy said.

“I’m fine,” Matt said, a little growly, kissing down Foggy’s jaw to his neck. “You smell so good.”

“Matt, _god_ ,” Foggy moaned, then came back to himself, tried to take control of the situation. He took Matt’s head in both hands and gently detached Matt from his neck. He looked at Matt, trying to catch his breath.

“What is it,” Matt said. “Am I being too aggressive?”

Foggy swallowed. Some parts of Foggy really loved how aggressive Matt was being. “No Matty, I… You were always kind of, uh, sexually forward,” Foggy said. “at least with women.”

“I should have been more forward with you,” Matt murmured, sliding his hand up the back of Foggy’s shirt. “You like it, right? You smell like you like it.” Foggy’s mouth fell open, but before he could answer, Matt’s face had taken a far-off look. His brow furrowed. “Huh, smell is really big for me, I guess. And… Touch, too?” He angled his face back toward Foggy. “Most people can’t hear other peoples’ heartbeats, can they?”

Foggy kind of wanted to both laugh and cry. “Nope. No, they cannot. Astute observation, Matt.”

Suddenly Matt’s eyebrows shot up. Some kind of information floodgate had just opened in his mind. “Oh… Oh, _shit_.” 

Foggy sighed. “Yeah, let’s just talk about that later,” he said, grabbing Matt by the chin and bringing their mouths together again. Matt made a _mmph_ sound, but immediately melted into it, moaning when their tongues touched. When Foggy’s hands found his chest and stomach, gently caressing, Matt was so into it Foggy almost believed he could distract Matt away from remembering anything about being Daredevil. Matt was always a great seducer, yes, but he was also very, very seducible.

“Bed,” Matt said, voice low and forceful.

“Yes, _sir_ ,” Foggy replied, feeling hot, and immediately had to talk Matt down from trying to lift Foggy in his arms. “Matt – Christ! With your injuries, hell no! I should be carrying you.”

“I’ll just have to heal faster,” Matt said, but he let Foggy sling one of his arms over Foggy’s shoulders so he could lean on Foggy and limp toward the bedroom.

Foggy helped Matt onto the bed, and immediately Matt was stripping his shirt off. The boxers came off right after that, and Foggy stood unmoving, staring. He’d seen Matt naked already, but not naked and hard, and laying on his side on the bed like a cliché, like a present.

“Take your clothes off and come here,” Matt said softly, and Foggy shivered.

Foggy slowly started to pull his shirt off. All of this was totally ridiculous. He’d literally found out earlier that day that Matt had feelings for him. Matt was still recovering his memories; they had not even begun to face all the issues that had broken them apart. They had not even broached the topic of Daredevil. Nonetheless, shirt discarded, Foggy unbuckled his pants. He watched Matt lick his lips and it made his dick pulse. This was a terrible idea. He was going to get hurt again.

None of those rational thoughts stopped him for a second. Maybe he needed Matt right now more than he needed to not be hurt later on.

He stepped on his socks to pull them off and leave them on the ground. Leaving his underwear on, he climbed into bed next to Matt, who put his arms around him. Matt stroked his back softly. “Foggy. Sweetheart. What’s wrong?”

He couldn’t hide from Matt. “Please just promise me,” Foggy said, “that we will talk about everything, once you remember it all. That we will work it all out, and figure out whether us dating is a good idea or not.”

“Of course,” Matt said, frowning. “…Do you want to… Not have sex?”

“Um. No, I want to have sex,” Foggy said, laughing nervously. “Like. A lot. I just - I need you to promise me. That you’ll hold me to this. Because I’m gonna want to not talk about it. We’re both going to want to – just – keep fucking and not dealing with it.”

Matt was silent for a moment. “I’m thinking I’ve had a bad track record with this kind of thing.”

“Yup,” Foggy said, pointedly.

“I’ll be better,” Matt promised, sounding sad and sincere. Foggy didn’t really believe him. But he took Matt’s face in both hands and kissed him, soft and lingering.

Kissing more deeply after a moment, Matt tried to roll on top of Foggy, and Foggy resisted for the sake of Matt’s injuries. They laid together on their sides, pressing in to each other, the flesh of Foggy’s soft stomach enveloping Matt’s flat, compact one. Whatever the stakes, however this turned out, right now he had Matt in his arms, Matt’s skin against his skin – Matt, right here, breathing heavy and face flushed, and he was beautiful. He was stroking Foggy’s sides and back and kissing Foggy’s neck again. He clearly had a neck thing, and Foggy liked it.

“Feels so good, Matty,” Foggy murmured in Matt’s ear. “Don’t stop.” In response, Matt pushed his hips forward, rubbing his hard-on against Foggy’s thigh. He reached down between them to grasp Foggy’s dick.

“I want to do so many things with you,” Matt growled against his neck, sliding his hand up and down. “I want to go down on you, I want to fuck you…”

“Heal first,” Foggy said, panting a little. “Nothing too athletic. Like you said in the shower, your hands are fine. Just use those… Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

Matt’s other hand went to his own dick. Foggy watched Matt’s fingers move over it, hungry. He wanted a lot of things, too, but. “Are you going to be okay, uh, coming? I mean, it’ll make your muscles clench and everything.”

“It might hurt,” Matt grunted. “I don’t care.”

Foggy sighed. “Well, at least let me help,” he said, licking his fingers for lube and pushing Matt’s hand out of the way. Matt leaned his head back and gasped at the first touch of Foggy’s fingers. Matt’s hand on Foggy went slack as Foggy rolled his hand up, caressing over the head of Matt’s cock with his thumb.

Foggy chuckled as Matt groaned something semi-coherent about how good it was. “I’ve thought about touching you so much, Matt,” Foggy told him. “You have no idea how bad I’ve wanted you. All these years.”

“I was an idiot,” Matt grunted, “for not doing something about it.” He rallied and started moving his hand on Foggy again.

“Given your … special sense of touch, I always wondered how, uh, how sensitive you were,” Foggy confessed.

Matt smiled at him. “ _Very_ sensitive.” He bit his lip. “I can hold back if you want, but I could finish any time.”

“Already? Wow.”

“Your hand feels wonderful,” Matt breathed. “Foggy. And – and that it’s you – finally, you…”

Foggy caught his breath. “You don’t have to hold on,” he told Matt.

Matt immediately made a gorgeous whimper. The muscles of his torso contracted as he came, and he made a hiss of pain. His hand went to his side.

Foggy was worried, but Matt’s face relaxed then, and his body went loose. “You’re okay?” Foggy asked.

“Yeah.” Matt turned his face back toward Foggy and started stroking him again. It took Foggy a little longer, but after Matt again put his mouth where Foggy’s neck met his shoulder, sucking and biting him there, the final rush toward orgasm overtook him.

They lay together afterwards, both of them with their arms around the other, tight. Foggy wanted to use the bathroom, to clean up, but part of him was afraid if he let Matt go, he’d never get him back. He’d never get to hold Matt like this again. Matt would get enough of his memories back that the whole thing would become a blip, a fuck-up that happened when he wasn’t himself.

Long moments passed, the sounds of Matt’s breath quieting in Foggy’s ear. After a while, Matt smiled. “It’s funny,” he said, voice a bit rough, “I know it’s just my faulty memory right now, but -- it doesn’t seem like that was our first time.”

To think about that too hard would be too sad. So Foggy laughed instead. “You’re probably just remembering all the times you fantasized about jerking me off.”

Matt laughed, and Foggy giggled along with him and kept going. “Every night, for ten years, you dreamed about my dick,” he teased.

“You’re taking advantage of my memory loss. I can’t even argue with you; it could be true for all I know.”

 _Taking advantage._ Guilt welled up in Foggy, and he got serious again. “Matt, I’m sorry I lied… Or, at least, that I let you believe we were married.”

Matt shook his head and petted Foggy’s hair. “It’s okay. Hey, if we’re lucky, maybe we’ll get married for real someday,” he said.

Foggy smiled. His eyes felt wet all of a sudden. “That’s going to take a hell of a lot of luck, Matt.”

“I seem to be pretty good at luck,” Matt said. “And with luck plus some work, we might get somewhere. We’ll do it better this time around.”

“I’m gonna try, Matty,” Foggy said. “The best we can do is try.”

**Author's Note:**

> Matt and Foggy don’t always make the smartest decisions (shrug)
> 
> Title from the song by the Last Shadow Puppets. Watch [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s8LtrwbEUow) and join me in my headcanon that Alex Turner is an awkward and muscular lesbian.
> 
> I’m neurocrat on tumblr. Lately my blog is only like 10% Daredevil stuff but. Come join me for other MCU stuff, Brooklyn 99, RuPaul’s Drag Race, & plenty of my rambling dumb thoughts!


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